


It Took So Long to Meet You

by Wildwolf



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Eventual Romance, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildwolf/pseuds/Wildwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate universe time travel/takes place in the medieval age of an alternate history. Bilbo Baggins has finally finished his time-travel device and tests it out by going back to the medieval age. There he meets Thorin, a King-in-Exile hiding from Smaug the Terrible, who usurped the throne from Thorin's grandfather years ago. When the elderly Gandalf appears with an opportunity for Thorin to take back his home, Bilbo must decide whether to return to his own time or help Thorin regain his rightful throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Took So Long to Meet You

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes: AU historical fic, inspired vaguely by the story told in Darren Hayes’s The Future Holds a Lion’s Heart. Takes place in the medieval age of an alternate history.  
> Been listening to a LOT of Darren Hayes lately.  
> Combining the middle ages with the timeline of Arda has been messy business. I salute everyone who does it.

 

**It Took So Long to Meet You**

**Chapter One**

 

He had done it—he created a time machine. He felt it in his bones. After so many sleepless nights, after innumerable hours of research and development, after years of being called mad by family and colleagues alike, he knew he had it. The equations were fuzzy in his head after so long staring at them but everything finally worked out on paper. His notes were the scribbling of a madman (not that he was insane, truly, merely driven), but the conclusion was clear.

Rather than a large, unseemly shape like a chair or a big box, this machine looked like a ring. Small and very indiscreet, he could wear it anywhere and no one would give him a second look. He held it up and admired the inoffensive gold shine.

He put the Ring on to activate it. Red script glowed on the outer surface and a screen appeared in the air before him. His heart raced. Leaving the screen where it was, he turned on his digital recorder.

"This is the research log of Dr. Bilbo Baggins," he stated into the device. "As many know, I have been working on a method of time travel. If you are hearing this and I am not there to gloat, then I was likely unsuccessful. Or possibly very successful,” he amended. “If you are hearing this and I am well, then I expect an apology from everyone who ever called me crazy. And perhaps a Nobel prize." He verbally affirmed the current day's date. "I seem to be going on an adventure. Wish me luck."

He signed off and, breath bated, typed a date into the holographic screen. The numerals glowing on the Ring changed to reflect what he entered. When not working on his Ring, he planned out which date he would visit first. No wars, no famine or pestilence. He wanted to go some time during a medieval period, just to see what it was really like. He confirmed the date floating in front of him and pressed enter.

After moments of silence, he felt no difference and he sagged. Another failure.

Then the world lurched, there was a tugging sensation behind his eyes, and it was black.

Birds flew with his sudden intrusion. It took his eyes time to adjust to the dark woods after the bright whiteness of his lab. The air felt fresh and he sneezed. Taking a moment to orient himself, he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “I did it!” He laughed gleefully and turned around, staring despite that he could hardly see for the dark. His heart bounced in his chest.

The holographic screen had disappeared and his Ring looked like any ordinary ring again. He took it off and put it in his pocket. Now he needed to find someone and confirm the date, assuming the people he found spoke English.

He looked around. All he could see were woods. Panic threatened to overcome his mirth. Where was he? Not only was he in another time period (so he assumed), but he had no idea where he was.

“Hello?” he called into the night. Only the wind in the trees answered him. Shivering with the chill, Bilbo considered his options.

He did the only thing he could then: he started walking, guided by the small LED flashlight he kept on his keychain. After all, if he was truly lost he could always return home by way of his Ring. All he had to do was put it on and press the reset button. He had nothing to fear in this time. His footsteps were punctuated by the snapping of twigs and crackling of leaves. Once in a while he would stop, paranoia telling him someone followed, but he never found any proof of it. His nerves were on edge from being in a strange new place, even if he had yet to affirm that his Ring did anything other than teleport him somewhere contemporary with his own time.

But creating a teleporter would be a terrific consolation prize, Bilbo figured. Still useful, if not his ultimate goal.

He had heard what sounded like running water and decided to move towards it. A small brook ran through the woods. He followed it. It took him less than an hour from when he first arrived to find a house—or so he guessed, as he wore no watch and had left his cell phone in the lab under the assumption that it wouldn’t work in the past. The moon was bright enough there that, now having a destination in sight, he turned off the light and tucked his keys back into his pocket. In the event that someone was home, he didn’t want to have to explain what a flashlight was; best not take any chances when dabbling in the past!

Two stone and wood structures stood in a small clearing—one looked to be a house and the other perhaps a stable. Two narrow, glass-less windows framed the house door with cloths hanging in them, blocking the view inside. They ruffled in the breeze and low warm light showed from beneath.

“Hello?” Bilbo asked as he approached. He came up to the door and knocked on the rough wood. Vaguely he could smell food cooking and it reminded him that he had gone the entire day back at home without eating. “Is anyone home?” Not receiving an answer, he circled around to the back to make sure there were no open windows for him to peer through. He ventured carefully near the stables but heard no one, not even the nickering of horses. He would almost have thought the place abandoned if it hadn’t been for the light in the windows and the smell. When he came back around to the front he stopped. _Just a peek,_ he told himself. _If someone is home and minds, you can apologize. After all, you’ve been calling and they haven’t answered._ He pulled aside the hanging cloth and peered inside.

Something pointed jabbed into his back. "What is this?" A voice hissed into his ear. "A thief in the night? Explain yourself, burglar!" At least that told him what language people spoke here.

Bilbo held very still. "I am not a burglar! I'm lost." He wanted to turn his head towards the voice but held himself. “I called out and asked if anybody was home. I wouldn’t be a very good burglar if I did that, would I?”

Whatever his attacker held against his back disappeared. Bilbo turned slowly, hands visible in an attempt to appear non-threatening. Facing him was a tall man with long ragged hair and pale eyes; blue or grey he could not tell in the moonlit dark. He held a knife in his hand. Indignantly, Bilbo touched his back and checked his hand—no bleeding.

“This is an unfortunate place to be lost in,” the unknown man stated, sheathing his knife.

“And why is that?” Bilbo watched the blade go back into its casing. His gaze kept wandering back to it, making sure that it stayed there.

He scoffed. “There are nothing but woods. My home is the only place for miles around. You are lucky that you found it and that I am in an amiable mood tonight.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “Amiable? You shoved a knife at my back!”

“You were sneaking around my home,” the other man countered.

Bilbo could not disagree with that. “May I ask where I am?”

The man stopped and turned, listening for something in the woods. “We may continue this conversation inside.” Brandishing a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and held it open for Bilbo. As they stepped through he locked it behind them. Bilbo looked around. It was a small home with perhaps two other rooms in the back. A table with benches sat near the hearth. In the hearth was a metal tripod that held a pot over the fire. A few chests sat in various places throughout the home. Two what he assumed were sleeping mats lay off to the side of the hearth. A couple chairs sat near one another in a different corner. “Now who are you and why are you wandering these woods? Did Smaug send you?"

“What?” Bilbo squinted at him. “Who? Smaug?"

“Answer the question.” His gaze bore into Bilbo.

Bilbo suddenly felt as if this man was more a captor than a savior. “My name is Bilbo Baggins.” He knew better than to explain time travel, so he said the first thing in his head. “I just woke up in the woods. I have no idea where I am.”

“That is an unlikely story.”

Crossing his arms, he retorted, “but I have no other.”

The man stared at him, seeming to search for something. Then his eyes focused again. “Remove any weapons you have.”

“I have none,” he answered truthfully.

The stranger strode up to Bilbo and began to pat him down. Bilbo took off his loafers when ordered and the inside of his shoes were scrutinized. In the glow of the fire he was better able to see his helper. Gray streaked his dark hair. His skin was fair and his nose proud. The short sleeves of his blue tunic showed the hard muscles in his arms. He was altogether very handsome and Bilbo suddenly felt self-conscious at his softer body. He was also concerned about the decidedly modern items in his pockets, but that was for a more practical reason. Not only would explaining the existence of his contemporary technologies (even something as simple as the flashlight) possibly alter the past, but doing so would be quite tedious. Also, he remembered, it wouldn’t do if his Ring was taken away. He resisted the urge to touch his pocket and assure himself that it was there.

“Well,” the other man commented as he finished his inspection, “you are no assassin. Looking at you, I would say a minstrel or bard but you carry no instrument. Perhaps a merchant or a grocer.”

“A scholar,” Bilbo supplied. “May I ask who you are?”

He looked Bilbo over. “Yes, I suppose you have the look of a scribe about you, or a member of the church.” He shook his head. “My name is Thorin.”

Bilbo felt a little better knowing his name. “And where am I?”

“About two day’s ride from the castle,” Thorin answered.

“And which castle would that be?” Bilbo hadn’t meant to sound as if he were trying to explain something simple to one of his dimmer relatives, but that was how it came out.

Thorin looked at him as if he were the stupid one. “Erebor. The castle in the Lonely Mountain.” He shook his head again. “Where did you say you were from?”

“York.”

“Never heard of it.” The taller man’s voice held a suspicious edge.

“It’s far away from here,” Bilbo tried to keep his voice casual, as if that information was obvious. He doubted a woodsman would know much, geographically-speaking.

Thorin’s look was pensive. “It sounds like a word one of the Shire-folk would use, as does your name. Your clothes are also odd. I suppose that places you from around there. You are indeed a long way from home, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo hardly considered a button-up shirt and slacks odd, but decided to just agree with Thorin. “You are correct,” he lied. “What year is it?”

Now the other man knew his new companion had to be mad. “The year is 2941 of the Third Age.” Perhaps Thorin would have the boys drop this odd man off in one of the towns and then he would be someone else’s problem.

Bilbo tried to remember how the extinct calendar system matched with the one from his time but for the life of him could not do so. He vaguely thought it corresponded with the 13th century, which was about what he was aiming for. He would just have to remember the year and compare it when he returned home in order to judge his Ring’s accuracy.

Thorin moved to the hearth and gave the contents of the pot a stir. The smell of stew caught in Bilbo’s nose. His hunger was distracting and Thorin caught him staring.

“Would you like something to eat?” Thorin offered hesitantly, still not sure about his guest’s intent. The man seemed harmless enough, if quite strange, and hadn’t acted amiss when Thorin introduced himself but he still could be a spy. He was obviously hiding something. However it had been a while since Thorin had spoken to anyone besides his sister or nephews and it felt oddly nice to have company. He could fall back on his old gentile politeness, even if someone else would have been cooking and serving the food the last time he had been at court. Still, he would sleep with one eye open that night.

“If it isn’t any bother,” his visitor replied sheepishly.

Thorin took a couple bowls from a cabinet in the corner and filled them with the stew. He set them on the table and indicated that Bilbo take a seat. Bilbo did so and began to tuck in heartily. It was warm and rustic; it gave him a sense of what he imagined home would have been like, if he hadn’t been a child of the city and two busy parents.

Thorin watched him eat and enjoyed how at least someone appreciated his food, even if it was mostly vegetables with some salted meat added in. His sister was the superior cook and knew better than to let him deal with that particular chore normally. But she and her sons had all left for various reasons, so Thorin was left to his own devices. He also had to admire, not that he would admit it, how the firelight turned the other man’s hair into blazing gold and danced on his skin. The stranger didn’t have hard hands like someone who worked for a living and his manner was too open. If he was a spy or assassin, then he was very terrible at his job. _Or very good,_ Thorin revised.

“So, do you live alone?” Bilbo asked just to break the silence.

Thorin considered how much to tell him. “I live with my sister and her sons. She has gone to buy supplies from the nearest town. The boys are hunting.” Another moment of silence stretched on. “What are your intentions? Where are you headed?”

Bilbo thought for a moment. “I think I would like to see this castle.” He would love to see a real medieval castle while it was still in use and to explore the surrounding town.

Biting back a snarl, Thorin growled, “You would be best off staying away from there, visitor from the Shire.”

“Why’s that?” Bilbo asked.

“Do they teach you nothing in this York?” Thorin stood, looking baffled and angry. “When Smaug the Terrible usurped the throne, he brought with him desolation. The city of Dale, which lies at the food of the mountain, is a cesspit of poverty and darkness. He hoards all the gold he can lay his hands on and leaves his peoples to die from starvation and sickness.” There was a commanding anger to Thorin’s voice that scared Bilbo, and he wondered who his host had lost to the king’s negligence. Perhaps his own wife, if he lived with his sister and her family. In fact he had made no mention of his brother-in-law, so it was likely that they both lost spouses because of the king’s reign. Bilbo was saddened for this man for the tragedies he imagined on him.

Thorin sat back down. “When the boys return in the morning, I will get them to take you to the closest village. From there, where you go is your own choice. I warn you though, do not go to Erebor. The kings of old are dead and its new master would lay waste to cities to get what he wants.”

Bilbo mulled this over in his thoughts. He remembered little from his books about Smaug, just that he took the throne and that after his reign ended, the kingdom grew into an age of prosperity and enlightenment under the new king. He didn’t remember facts and dates well, having a far better mind for physics than for history. He remembered that he wanted to come to this age but could not remember the specific reasons why.

“Take the bed in the room on the right,” Thorin directed him after he finished his meal.

Bilbo thanked him and retreated to the room, though he thought it would be a long while before he slept. The bed smelled like Thorin and Bilbo realized that he must be using the other man’s room. He blushed and reminded himself to thank the other man profusely in the morning for his wonderful hospitality despite the rocky start.

Thorin, meanwhile, didn’t have the considerate intention that Bilbo thought of him. The two bedrooms had no windows, so the only way Bilbo could escape was through the front. If Thorin slept in one of his nephew’s sleeping mats, he could stand guard and catch if the other man tried to sneak out during the night. However, it would be a bit before he slept, the presence of Bilbo shaking him. He cleaned the dishes in a basin and tossed the dirty water out, making note to fetch more water from the stream in the morning. Then he sat and stared at the fire. He remembered when Smaug came with his army. He had set fire to the throne room and killed Thorin’s grandfather. The curtains and tapestries blazed as the enemy army cut down any people they found. The city itself was razed by the invaders. Thorin had been on the run ever since.

He hummed a song to himself, staring into the embers.

 

_Little bird, what do you see_

_That you take wing and flee?_

 

_I see smoke and I see fire._

_I see a kingdom in danger dire._

_I see a city all ablaze_

_To seize what the Dragon desires._

 


End file.
